


HANDsome

by jbeakers



Category: Beatles
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:03:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbeakers/pseuds/jbeakers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Beatle insider reflects on time with John Lennon.</p><p>Who could it be?</p><p>Just an idea I had. No beta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	HANDsome

Tactile. If asked to describe John Lennon in one word, it would be tactile. While much has been said of his hands over the years, I am one of the few lucky ones intimately familiar with them. To be familiar with Lennon’s hands is to be familiar with Lennon.  
  
Our physical relationship began in 1960, the bond was immediate, and together we knocked down all kinds of walls. Ours was a finely tuned combination of infinite lust and emotion.  All good things must eventually come to an end, but we had the ride of our lives, John and I.  
  
I knew John Lennon intimately. His hands… his touch was perfect. The early days were the best—a roller coaster ride of rough and tumble HAMBURG. Oh, yes, those smaller than average hands were soon abusing me in the most delightful ways imaginable. He liked me dirty, and I loved being dirty for him.  
  
We moved on from Germany and our fame continued to build, through hard work and unimaginable stress… together we conquered America… the rest of the world was to follow. He took care of me, and didn’t. His lack of care never bothered me, so long as I could be with him. Fate brought us together, you see.  
  
Through this process I learned much of Lennon. Through his chest I’ve felt the distinct buzz of his singing voice and beautiful laughter. The smell of cigarettes in the air and on his breath… I can still feel his sweaty palm caressing my neck, his other hand busy with delighting my nether regions. Pure bliss, assuredly.  
  
 I am also well acquainted with the vibration of gasping sobs, as he struggled with this fame, our fame. His soul wracked with pain, always with his arms wrapped tightly around me, always when we were alone. I can feel his stubbled face leaning against me as he spoke words of bitter frustration, and murmured curses to the universe. I can feel his hot tears sliding down my face while he wrestled with questions of life, and his destiny.  
  
I was always there. I understood completely, without judgment.  I never answered him. I always listened, often the only audience he needed. I loved John Lennon, and he loved me. It’s simple, really.  
  
I’m American. Who am I???

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My name is Rick. That's what John called me. I'm the most famous Rickenbacker 325 Capri on earth. John's hands made me so. Other guitars followed me, but I was the  **one**.


End file.
